


And Hell is Just a Sauna

by GodModeSue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Awesome Jane Foster, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Darcy Lewis & Thor Friendship, Darcy Lewis's Taser, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kidnapping, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Misunderstandings, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Protective Steve, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Sexual Content, Snakey Monsters, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Thor Is Not Stupid, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodModeSue/pseuds/GodModeSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I work a really demanding schedule, and my work can be dangerous,” he says determinedly. “I don’t want to drag anyone into that.”<br/>“Um,” she says. What’s a girl supposed to say to that? What the hell does he do?<br/>He laughs awkwardly. “I just didn’t want you to think it was you. Because it wasn’t.”<br/>Darcy waits until Steve’s left the building before she lets her jaw drop. “What. The fuck.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darcy’s locked out of her apartment again, and strangely calm. It’s the crowning moment of awfulness in a very exhausting day; she’s long since crossed the point of hysteria and swung back around to zen.

Since this isn’t the first time, Darcy knows what to do. Not that that alleviates her reluctance. Breaking into her own apartment means getting into the dusty ceiling crawlspace through a neighboring unit.

Darcy’s blouse is silk. It’s nice silk. It’s her favorite fucking blouse and it’s going to be _ruined_.

She wants to cry, but seriously, _zen_ , so no. Darcy summons her courage and knocks on Marisa’s door. There’s no answer. No one’s home. “Well, fuck,” she mumbles, her hand dropping to rest forlornly at her side.

She’s so tired. The pressure in her eyes is ridiculous. She really doesn’t want to nap in the hallway while she waits for Marisa to return –– and that could be hours, or _never_ –– but her options are seriously limited.

That’s when the door to the unit opposite Marisa’s cracks open. Darcy doesn’t even notice at first, because she’s staring at the ground and wondering when her floor acquired that particular smell.

“Miss? You alright?”

“Flipping fantastic,” she says. “I’m on a roller coaster that just keeps going ––” She takes a good look at him. He’s built. And super tall. She still hasn’t found his face, because her eyes keep going up and up and ––

“Up,” she finishes as his face swims into view, and my god, it’s as beautiful as the rest of him. He has storybook waved blond hair and a jawline to die for. And he just looks nice, old-fashioned nice. The kind of boy Darcy would take home to meet her Gran, and god knows she hasn’t met many of those. (Gran is awesome, but old-school, and Darcy cringes imagining what she’d say if Darcy introduced her to some of the jerks she’s dated.)

“Um,” she says, swallowing.

He looks like he’s chewing on his words. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I’m Darcy,” she says. “I live in 601. It’s Steve, right?”

He nods.

“I heard you’d moved in. BTW, are you the one who keeps bringing falafel into the building? Because it seriously reeks.”

“Uh, no,” he says. “That must be someone else. Sorry.”

“Eh.” Darcy shakes her head.

“Are you waiting for Miss Quintero?” Steve ventures.

“I doubt she’ll mind if you call her Marisa, buddy,” Darcy says. “And yeah. I’m locked out of my apartment.”

“She has a spare key?”

“No,” Darcy says shortly. “She has access to the ceiling crawlspace.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Wouldn’t it be easier to call the super?”

Well, yeah, it would. But he’d spend the entire time staring at her boobs and making lewd comments. Darcy would rather wait. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

He looks a little lost. There’s an awkward minute or two before Darcy takes pity. “I’m fine, honestly. You really don’t have to stick around.”

Steve actually looks a little wounded. “Unless you want to?” she amends.

“Nowhere else to be,” he says, shrugging. He steps out into the hallway and lowers himself to the floor, leaning against the wall opposite Darcy. His nose twitches and he says, “Falafel. Huh.”

She cracks. Tears stream down her face as she literally shakes with laughter. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, regaining control. “Long day.”

Steve’s staring at her, which is totally understandable. He does return her smile, shyly. It’s adorable. Darcy’s already planning their wedding. She opens her mouth to say so, because she has no filter whatsoever, but then he says ––

“I could break into your apartment for you.”

Hot _damn_.

It takes him like a minute. She’s maybe in love.

* * *

 

Except he’s maybe not so in love with her, because when she asks him out for coffee he says no. Not, “Maybe some other time.” Not, “I don’t really date.” Not even, “I have a girlfriend.”

Just “No.”

Yeah, she’s bummed. Being flatly rejected by The Hottest Guy Ever is a _bum-some thing_. But it happens. Has happened before. Will probably happen again. It doesn’t sting too badly; Darcy knows she’s not ugly. She’s slim and has a killer rack and a predilection for red lipstick and big curls and retro skirts. Which is to say: She’s basically a 1940s pin-up, and guys eat that shit up like crazy.

(Just not Steve, apparently. To which Darcy says “Boo.” Bitter? Totally. So sue her.)

Life goes on. There’s plenty to keep her busy. She’s almost through with her doctorate, and she’s picked up some extra shifts at Common Grounds. That’s cut back on her Science! time with Jane, but she’s paying the bills and even saving a little for the college funds of her as-yet-unborn children, so whatever.

The barista gig isn’t so bad. It was rough at first, trying to juggle classes, research, and work all at once, but she’s figured out a rhythm. Making coffee actually helps her relax after long days and all-night study sessions. In between customers, Darcy studies. She gets a lot of work done that way. There’s an early morning rush, and then a lull until lunch. So quite predictably, she’s got her nose buried in a book when the bell rings and Steve walks in. When she looks up, she maybe squeaks a bit. Maybe. A little. Alright, yes. Happy?

He smiles at her like he doesn’t remember _crushing her heart and soul into a million tiny pieces_ just a month ago. “Darcy! I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, hopping off of her stool and stowing the book. “Bills. We’ve all got ‘em.”

“Is that a good book?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at the text.

“If you’re into prison-industrial complexes. Can I get you something?”

“Uh, coffee. Please.”

“Black?”

“Sure.”

“What size?”

“Large?”

“Two-fifty, and I’ll have that ready in a moment.”

It’s a little awkward then, because they lapse into silence and Darcy becomes painfully aware that they’re the only people in the shop. This is stupid, she thinks. It doesn’t need to be awkward, really it doesn’t. She asked, he said no, they’re both adults and she can totally handle rejection with maturity and grace.

It’s still really awkward.

She pastes on a bright smile and passes over his drink. “Since this is your first time here, I should probably tell you. If you bring a travel mug you get ten percent off. Save the planet, etc.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Then he stands awkwardly at the counter for a minute just staring. It’s kind of intense, which, weird. But also hot as fuck. “Darcy, I think I owe you an explanation.”

“Dude, no!” she says. “I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. No means no and I respect that. We’re cool.”

“I work a really demanding schedule, and my work can be dangerous,” he says determinedly. “I don’t want to drag anyone into that.”

“Um,” she says. What’s a girl _supposed_ to say to that? What the hell does he _do_?

He laughs awkwardly. “I just didn’t want you to think it was you. Because it wasn’t.”

Darcy waits until Steve’s left the building before she lets her jaw drop. “What. The fuck.”

There are unimpressive excuses, and there are really unimpressive excuses. This has got to be the best she’s ever heard. Darcy really wants to let him off easy. But she’s also smart enough to recognize that Steve’s general gorgeousness is clouding her judgement, and when she isn’t thinking with her … heart, she realizes that Steve is looking pretty unimpressive overall. Patronizing. Definitely a liar. Maybe an attention-seeker. Whatever it is, she doesn’t need that in her life.

The good news is that Steve’s unimpressiveness basically wipes out the lingering inadequacy she’s been feeling since he turned her down. She mentally files him away under “Hot Steve” and occasionally pulls him out to ogle, and that’s the end of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hear ye, hear ye. I have retroactively promoted Darcy to the status of Ph.D candidate. Thank you. That is all.

“Jane, I need you to look at those forms. This is _non-negotiable_.”

“Five –– give me five ––”

“Now,” Darcy says firmly, taking Jane by the shoulders and directing her away from the monitor. “You want to sell your apartment? You have to do the paperwork. Read. Sign. Now.”

“But my _data_ ––”

“Will survive twenty minutes without its mommy there to hold its hand. Come on, Jane. You knew you’d have to do this.” Darcy has very little sympathy for the other woman. Thor and Jane are finally moving in together, into a suite at Avengers Tower. TBH, Darcy’s a little jealous. “Promise you’ll get me a picture of Captain America’s abs,” she says longingly.

Jane snorts. “Isn’t the internet knee-deep in them?”

“Under _spandex_. Not the same. Not the same _at all_. I want a picture of his naked abs in all their manly, patriotic glory. You must do this for me.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jane scratches out her signature. “There’s still time, you know. Move in with us, Darce. I don’t know how I’ll live without you.”

“We haven’t roomed together in years.”

“But we won’t even be in the same _borough_ now.”

“Uh huh. Poor baby, has to live in Tony Stark’s giant luxury tower with her hot, devoted boyfriend who happens to literally be a god. Tough life.”

“ _Darcy_. I’m _serious_. Move in with us. It’s not like there isn’t space.”

Only that isn’t the issue, is it? Darcy thinks. She doesn’t belong here like Jane does. They’re in the tower now, in the lab Jane shares with Bruce and sometimes Tony, and Darcy is patently out of place. She’s not a superhero, she’s not dating a superhero, her degree is in _political freaking science_. Which she is _damn good at_ , but that’s beside the point. Darcy has no place among the Avengers. She wouldn’t feel comfortable invading their space.

“I’ll think about it,” is what she says to Jane. Is what she always says to Jane. What else can she say? _I’d like to someday have a job my degree qualifies me for. I’m scared I’ll always be the sidekick and that, if I move in with you, I’ll never learn how to be anything else. I love you but I can’t always follow you everywhere. I need to make my own life, on my own terms and through my own efforts._

Ha.

She won’t say it and she never will. Jane –– wonderful, space cadet Jane –– would never understand. She’s never needed to find herself before. She’s always known who she is.

Darcy has a meeting with her thesis advisor at four. Before she leaves she coaxes Jane into eating _not only_ a pop-tart _but also_ a second pop-tart. Whatever. It’s still calories, and god knows Jane needs them. Then she pulls on her jacket and hat and scarf and heads out into the wild.

Jarvis is playing Katy Perry in the elevator. “Is this a pep talk?” she asks him.

“Are you in need of one, Ms. Lewis?”

“Never hurts.”

“Then certainly.”

It’s a really important meeting. Darcy’s in that crucial stage of data analysis where she thinks she’s found something really awesome, but she isn’t sure. This could be the break she’s been looking for. It’s important. It’s _really important_. Darcy’s poised to become a fully-fledged Ph.D and she’s done this _by herself_ and she’s so excited she thinks she might throw up.

Or, y’know, totally not watch where she’s going and trip over her own feet. Which she does as soon as the elevator doors open. Luckily someone catches her.

… Or unluckily. “Darcy?”

“Hi, Steve,” she says wearily. She’s a little sick of him, to be honest. He’s come by the coffee shop at least twice a week for the last few months. He never talks much, just orders the same boring black coffee and sits at the corner table right in the middle of the wifi dead spot. Where he proceeds to fiddle with his phone and intermittently glance at Darcy. Which a) seriously, man? and b) how has he not figured out that he’s sitting at literally _the worst_ table in the entire shop? Darcy really doesn’t know why he comes. Maybe he thinks she invited him. Reusable mugs and save the rainforest, etc. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she says that to all the guys.

He holds on to her until she’s steady. “You work here?”

“Sometimes.” Darcy jerks her head awkwardly at the doors. “I gotta go, sorry. See you around.” She spares like, one thought, wondering what Steve does at Avengers Tower, and uncharitably decides he must be a Stark Expo booth babe.

Then she steps out into the street and man is it _cold_. No time to think about anything else. Must get underground.

But Darcy never makes it to the subway. She steps behind a black van with tinted windows. She doesn’t emerge on the other side. Freaking black vans with tinted windows, Darcy thinks as her assailants press a musty dishcloth to her face. It’s so cliché it makes her sick.

* * *

 

Darcy wakes up in a Standard Hostage Scenario, and she will never complain about Tony’s paranoid ‘what if?’ emergency training days ever again. The bad guys file into the room one at a time, and if she wasn’t gagged she’d probably laugh. If she didn’t scream. If she didn’t cry. They’re snakey alien monsters with three heads and fangs and sunglasses and black trench coats.

Gah, Darcy thinks. Just. Her life. It’s not exactly an everyday occurrence, _but still_. She shouldn’t have to deal with this shit! She’s a _Ph.D candidate_ , for Thor’s sake!

The snakey monsters pace menacingly before her. She wonders what time it is. She has a security check-in at five o’clock –– another paranoid Tony thing she will never, ever complain about again –– and when she misses it, they’re bound to figure out something’s wrong.

“Ssso,” hisses the biggest snakey monster. “Dr. Fossster. We meet at last.”

Say what? Thankfully Darcy has the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut. (The gag helps a little.) It occurs to her that they’ll probably kill her once they learn she isn’t Jane.

“We hope you will consssider yourssself our guessst. There is a sssmall matter in which we require your asssistance … you are _intimate_ with the Ssstorm God, are you not? Yesss.”

And isn’t that original. They’ve kidnapped Darcy while trying to get Jane to lure Thor. Really novel, guys. Also: how do they even talk? They’re snakey monsters! They don’t have vocal cords!

Darcy sighs and sits back and waits. Maybe she should be terrified, but what would that do? Darcy’s always been a firm believer in DON’T PANIC. So she doesn’t.

* * *

 

(Turns out it ain’t that easy.

She panics.)

* * *

 

“Darcy! Darcy, calm down. It’s me, it’s Steve. You’re alright. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” There are hands on her face, and then the gag is being torn off and she can breathe. Which also means she can hyperventilate, so she does. Steve tucks her head into his shoulder and pulls her out of the chair.

“Sorry, sorry,” Darcy says, teeth chattering. Why can’t she breathe? What the fuck is wrong with her?

“Hey, hey,” he says. “This is a perfectly normal reaction to a stressful situation. You’re doing fine. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

That’s when she notices a) they're surrounded by dead snakey monsters and b) _holy shit Steve is Captain America_.

“Can you walk?” he asks tersely, craning his neck toward the door. He hears something, Darcy thinks, although she sure as fuck can’t.

“Yeah.”

He lets her go and they start running. There are bodies everywhere. Darcy sees her purse on a table and snags it. No time to check if everything’s there, but she can feel her taser in its special compartment.

They’re almost out when a group of snakey monsters appears out of freaking nowhere. Captain America pushes Darcy behind him and starts kicking ass. Darcy fumbles for her taser. She wishes she knew hand-to-hand, but a taser’s not bad. She takes out a snakey monster, too, right before he hits Cap.

“Nice,” he says. “Let’s go!” He grabs her hand and they run towards the sunlight, leaping over snakey monster bodies.

It comes out of nowhere. One minute she’s fine, and the next there’s a dart in her neck and her head is spinning woozily. Where the heck are her feet? Why can’t she feel her feet?  “Uhn,” Darcy says as she collapses gracelessly.

It’s the chief snakey monster, the one who thought she was Jane. Darcy watches the resulting fight through a sort of dream-state view. Captain America beats the shit out of him. It’s pretty epic.

Slowly Darcy’s been maneuvering her hand up to her neck. At last she grabs the dart and yanks it out. It must hurt, because the pointy end is big and barbed, but she can’t feel a thing.

The last thing she remembers is Steve’s face swimming into view right above her own. Is he going to kiss her? He should totally kiss her. Maybe she says that. She doesn’t know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! One more! ONE MORE!

The world has lost definition since she last visited.

“Glasses?” she croaks. It doesn’t come out right. She tries again.

Someone finally puts them in her hand, and _ahhh_. Objects have boundaries once more. Jane’s asleep in the little chair opposite her bed; Thor’s standing at Darcy’s side. There’s a print of a Turner painting on the wall, and that’s how she realizes she’s in Jane and Thor’s guest bedroom.

“I am glad to see you with us once more, little sister,” Thor says quietly. “Dr. Banner assured us you would wake today, but Jane and I worried greatly.”

“What day is it?” Darcy asks scratchily.

“It is Thursday.”

“How appropriate,” she says, grinning. “One day. That’s not so bad.”

“Of the following week.”

Shit. “My meeting!”

“Shh,” he says soothingly. “Jane has made the necessary arrangements, I believe.”

“She has?” Darcy says, blinking away tears. She’s touched, and a little surprised. She looks at Jane, really looks, and she sees exhaustion. There are dark circles under her eyes and her brow is furrowed even in sleep. It’s always Darcy who takes care of Jane, who keeps track of appointments and cleans out her inbox and makes sure she eats and sleeps and showers. It’s not often the tables are turned.

God, Darcy thinks. She really loves me.

“How’s the Captain?” she asks.

“You used to call him Steve,” Thor says.

What? Well, yeah, but it’s not like she knew who he was. She tells him so. This is clearly news to Thor.

“Little sister, I had thought that you and Steven were quite close.”

Um?

“Courting,” clarifies Thor.

Holy shit. “Did he tell you that?” she demands. Not cool, Captain America. Steve. Person.

“Not in so many words, but it is manifest to all that he cares for you very much. He was most agitated when we discovered that you were in grave danger. I had thought to enter the lair of the Jormungandlings myself, but when Steven demanded that right I acceded to his claim.”

“What.” Putting aside the sketchy ‘claim’ rhetoric, this is a revelation to Darcy. Suddenly she sees the past six months in a new light. “He likes me? I mean, he _like_ likes me? Holy _shit_.” All the awkward mornings in the coffee shop. Holy shit indeed. “But we aren’t dating, Thor. He doesn’t want to date me. I asked him ages ago and he said something about not wanting to drag me into danger. I thought he was just really bad at making up excuses.”

Suddenly she’s mortified. “Oh my _god_ , Thor, I thought he was lying! I thought he was creepy! But he’s actually Captain America and he was trying to protect me even if he did it in a kind of douchey, patronizing, misogynistic way!”

Thor just pats her knee while she sort of dies inside.

* * *

 

That discussion gets put on hold for a while, because Tony chooses that moment to burst in, and with him comes everyone. Literally. Everyone. This is so not how Darcy imagined meeting the Avengers for the first time. Sure, she already knows Thor and Tony and Dr. Banner, but Hawkeye and Black Widow and Falcon are here too. It’s a regular party.

Wanna know who doesn’t make it? Steve. That fucker.

They’re all really nice, which is scary, because Darcy can’t help thinking it’s because they think she’s dating Steve. Which she isn’t. It’s a problem. And she’s going to have to deal with it. Maybe now, maybe later. But at some point Steve is going to walk through those doors and she’ll have to make a choice. The thing is, she’s not even sure she wants to date Steve. He’s Captain America, yeah, but he also clearly has issues. Given his history, who wouldn’t? He probably has like a million years’ worth of PTSD saved up. Darcy’s not sure she wants in on that, which is a _perfectly reasonable concern_ , fuck you very much.

But she also feels _obligated_. Which is not a good thing to be feeling. But. He saved her life, and maybe he loves her, and … it’s all just kind of complicated. She doesn’t even really know him.

But maybe she wants to.

But maybe she doesn’t.

Something must show on her face, because as Jane is waving everyone out of the room, insisting that Darcy needs her sleep, Black Widow clasps Darcy’s hand for just an instant and says, “Your choice is your own. Do as you must.”

Feminism. Or maybe it’s adulthood. Whatever it is, sometimes Darcy just wishes it would go away, because autonomy is really fucking hard. You make your choices and then you have to live with them. Sometimes you hurt people. Sometimes you screw people over. And sometimes you screw yourself over and cause self-inflicted wounds so you won’t hurt anyone else. It’s a lot of responsibility, but Darcy knows she couldn’t live with it any other way. It would be _nice_ , she thinks, just for a moment. Wistful, like. But she’s no longer a child, and you can’t ever go back.

She makes her choice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THAT THE RATING HAS CHANGED, YOU GUYS. I really don't want to traumatize anyone.  
> So this chapter is literally just fluff and sexy time, but it’s whatever. Plot. Who needs it.

The thing is, life isn’t always an either/or. You can have ‘and’. You can take an opportunity and run with it all the way to Argentina or China or wherever kids these days dig their tunnels. You can build your life around a fleeting glimpse of the life you want it to be.

Darcy means to.

* * *

 

Six months on.

It’s never easy, but that’s no excuse to quit, is it? Besides: Darcy’s doing this for herself. She’s never been the self-sacrificing type. This is what she wants.

* * *

 

When Darcy walks out of the theater after her oral defense she’s just a little incoherent.

“You did it!” Jane squeals, throwing her arms around her friend and shaking her like a dead rat. Thor’s booming laugh echoes an instant later –– the thunder after the lightning –– and then his arms are wrapped around them both and they’re going up, up, up. He’s too tall. It should be _illegal_ to be this tall.

“We’re taking you out to dinner,” Jane announces.

Darcy shuffles guiltily. “Actually, I have plans.” There’s a knowing glint in Thor’s eye she doesn’t like one bit.

“Tomorrow, then,” Jane persists. “And you can tell me all about your date with Hot Steve.”

Darcy doesn’t bother asking how Jane knows, because Thor can’t keep a secret worth shit. “You’ll get the play-by-play,” she promises. “Now I really have to go!”

“Best of luck, little sister,” rumbles Thor.

“Use protection!” says Jane.

* * *

 

Six months on.

There’s _progress_ , really. It isn’t easy building a relationship up from scratch, Darcy figures, even for normal people. Which she is not. She’s one of the freaks and _proud_. Steve is –– in some ways Steve is as normal as apple pie. In other ways he’s the freakiest of them all.

But she always knew that.

Darcy shows Steve how to connect to wifi on his phone. “Your 3G charges must be through the _roof_ ,” she says, aghast.

* * *

 

A relationship is something you cultivate. Darcy never knew that before Steve.

A partner is someone you implicitly recognize as your equal. Steve never knew that before Darcy.

You learn something new every day.

* * *

 

“Ooh, get the pad thai. And spring rolls, I want spring rolls,” Darcy yells toward the kitchen, where Steve is thumbing through a pile of takeout menus.

“We haven’t even decided on Bamboo Baby!” he says in exasperation.

“Well, I don’t know where else you expect to get pad thai and spring rolls.”

“Darcy.”

“Steve.”

“ _Darcy_.”

“ _Steve_.” She can do this all day. He ends up placing the order as directed. Then he joins her in the living room, where she’s sprawled lengthwise across the couch. He lifts her feet up so he can sit and deposits them on his lap. Darcy’s suddenly struck by how domestic the scene is. It’s incredible how things have changed. In the beginning there was tiptoeing. Now ––

“Did you just fart.”

“I don’t fart.”

“You totally farted.”

“I did _not_ ––”

“That was a genetically enhanced super-fart. Don’t lie.”

A pause.

“Fine. I farted.”

“I _knew_ it.”

Sullenly: “I never call you out when you fart.”

“I don’t fart.”

They don’t really tiptoe anymore. Steve absent-mindedly rubs her feet as he watches TV, and Darcy watches Steve. He’s beautiful. He has this jawline to die for, wavy blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, the kind of shoulders that make a girl want to throw her legs over them and arch her back. What she’s saying is, he’s hot. Hot like the sun. And when she thinks of what’s inside –– no, not _that_ –– inside his _heart_ –– she’s a little stunned. It isn’t fair that one person can be so good.

“I have something to tell you,” she says abruptly. Steve’s hand slides to a stop on her ankle.

“Something good?”

“Yeah.” She pushes herself up with her elbows, and grabs his arm to steady herself. Then she whispers it into his ear.

His face transforms.

“No need to look so surprised,” she grumps.

“I’m _not_ , just –– that’s fantastic. When do you start?”

“Beginning of the academic year.”

“Guess I’ll have to call you _Professor_ Lewis from now on.”

“I never knew you had a teacher-student kink.”

He just smiles and pulls her close, kisses her stupid. There are hands everywhere. In her hair, on her waist, under her shirt, stroking her neck. How is that possible? How many hands does he _have_? Hers stay planted on his chest. That’s where they belong.

Slowly he lowers her onto the couch, leaning over her. He doesn’t let his full weight settle on her, but it’s enough. “Take your shirt off,” she orders breathlessly, but it’s hers that goes first. Then she’s peeling his off, and he’s shimmying her pants down her legs. A burning kiss to her neck. Feather-soft touches down her breast. She gives as good as she gets, and she knows it. She can hear him fall apart. His breath hitches and his chest shudders. It drives her _crazy_.

Then his mouth is on her belly button and edging lower. She pushes impatiently at her panties, but he doesn’t let her take them off. He goes lower and lower until his face is buried between her legs, and then he pulls aside the thin, damp fabric without taking it off. Darcy makes a high, keening sound as his tongue dips into her folds and he noses at her clit. He brings her to the edge before pulling away and glancing impishly at her. He looks debauched, his lips wet with her release. Then he dives in again. This time she really does come, straining against the hands that pin her hips to the couch.

The doorbell rings. Darcy squeaks and scrambles for her clothes, but Steve just wipes his face on Darcy’s jeans and heads for the door. “You’re going to give the delivery boy a heart attack,” Darcy mumbles, holding the t-shirt Steve left behind.

She’s still mostly naked when he returns with the Thai, but he continues into the kitchen and sits and nonchalantly starts eating, ignoring her splutters. “D’you want your spring rolls or not?” he asks pointedly.

Darcy summons her dignity and puts her shirt on.

“What’d you do that for?”

“Mr. Rogers,” she says meaningfully. And stops. Thinks. Takes off her shirt. And her bra. And her panties. Heads to the bedroom. Closes the door.

* * *

 

They reheat the Thai for breakfast.


End file.
